Page 17 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow

Reaching into my bag, I grab my phone and call Alex. It barely rings twice before his voice comes through.

“Katherine,” he greets.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “I need to tell you what just happened.”

I dive into it, narrating the whole bizarre encounter with Annie. I recount every detail. I don’t hold back, letting the words spill out as I relive the sheer audacity of it all.

Alex listens without interrupting, and when I finish, his voice comes through the speaker, low and thoughtful. “It seems like they’re not giving you even a moment to breathe.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, shaking my head even though he can’t see me. “Not even a little.”

I pause, a new thought creeping into my mind. My tone lifts slightly. “Alex,” I say, “we’re going to have to start going on some dates to keep this up.”

“How about tonight?”

His words hang for a moment, and I feel a small smile tug at the corner of my lips. “Tonight’s a good time to start,” I reply, my voice softer now, more at ease.

I hang up the phone, the weight in my chest easing just a little. If they want to watch me, fine. Let them watch.

Evening arrives in what feels like the snap of my fingers. Before I know it, I’m stepping into the restaurant I picked out—a tasteful, understated spot. It’s warm inside, the low hum of conversation and soft lighting creating an ambiance that feels effortlessly intimate.

My gaze sweeps across the room, and I spot Alex almost immediately. He’s already at the table, and I can’t help the small, knowing smile that creeps onto my face as his eyes land on me. The look he gives me is everything—equal parts surprise, admiration, and something deeper that sends a shiver up my spine.

I stride toward him. My dress—a slim, body-hugging maxi in a deep, sultry shade—moves with me. I know it fits me perfectly, and the quiet confidence I feel is reflected in my posture. My makeup is light, understated, but the red lipstickis a bold touch, just enough to catch the eye and hold it.

Alex blinks, almost like he’s recalibrating, before rising from his chair. The way he looks at me is enough to make my heart skip, though I keep my expression cool. He steps forward, his hand reaching for mine, and his touch is as gentle as ever. Like he’s holding something delicate, something precious.

And then, he lowers his head, his lips brushing against the back of my hand in the softest kiss. The gesture is simple, but it sends heat rushing to my cheeks, and I know I’m blushing. His lips linger just a second longer than they need to, and then he straightens, leaning in close.

His voice is low, his breath warm against my ear. “If anyone is watching tonight,” he murmurs, “we’re going to be very convincing.”

The way his words graze my skin is enough to have the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

As I pull back slightly, I let myself take him in fully for the first time. He’s dressed sharply, but with a casual, effortless flair. A black suit, tailored to perfection, paired with a fitted black T-shirt tucked neatly into his jacket and slim-cut pants. He looks polished but not stiff—just the right blend of relaxed and refined.

His hand rests lightly on the small of my back as he steps to my side, guiding me toward my seat. The touch is barely there, yet it feels intimate. He moves with ease, his actions fluid and unhurried, and when I settle into the chair, his hand slips away just as gently as it arrived.

Alex takes his seat across from me, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the room has blurred into nothing. It’s just us, the quiet magnetism between us palpable, and I can’t help but wonder how much of this is just for show—and how much of it is something else entirely.

The waiter arrives, polite and professional, and Alex turns to me with a smile that does something to my stomach.

“Ladies first,” he says, his tone warm and teasing.

I order, keeping it simple but elegant, and Alex follows with his choice. His voice is smooth, confident, and the way he handles the exchange with the waiter makes me pause for a beat. There’s no hesitation, no awkwardness—just ease. I catch myself staring at him for a second longer than I should, before I busy myself with my glass of water.

When the food arrives, my nerves start to prick. Lobster Thermidor isn’t exactly a casual dish. Alex is sweet, incredibly good-looking, and all-around magnetic, but he’s a janitor. My mind wanders to ramen nights or takeout pasta—the kind ofmeals that don’t come with complicated utensils or garnishes you need a culinary degree to identify.

I steal a glance at him over the edge of my plate, fully expecting some level of awkwardness, some telltale sign of discomfort. But what I see instead has me blinking.

He’s… flawless.

The way he holds his fork and knife, the precision with which he carves into his lobster, the effortless way he pauses between bites to sip his wine—it’s as if he’s been eating five-star meals his entire life. When he folds his napkin on his lap with a casual flick or nods at the waiter to refill his glass, it’s hard not to stare.

How?

Maybe I’ve been the one projecting stereotypes onto him.The quiet confidence in his movements leaves me wondering if I’m the odd one here for assuming a janitor would struggle with fine dining.

The meal passes easily, without so much as a hiccup. The conversation flows naturally, just like the ones we share over takeout dinners in my office.

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